{Jon}

Sunday afternoon, it was easy to slide into sleep with sunlight in their bedroom window, the warm weight of Kurt's body next to his hip, the soft 'flip' of his partner turning pages on a Stephen King novel, and cool jazz fusion lapping around them in their tent. It seemed as if the dark in Jon's mind was lying in wait and the ensuing quiet, though ominous, was good enough for Jon. He knew how to rest hard for a fight ahead, and tonight was going to be a hell of a match with no sleeping pills to take his brain offline.

He woke up to Kurt brushing his fingers over his face, tracing his cheekbones and eyebrows and the line of his nose. Jon puffed out a soft 'ha'. "That tickles." His voice was rough with sleep.

"Time to wake up, darlin'," Kurt said. "Someone has to go to work to pay for the beautiful clothes in our closet."

Jon drew in his breath, stretching next to Kurt's body and opening his eyes. His partner's face was very close, blue eyes narrowed in a smile. "How much time did you leave us?" Jon asked.

Kurt's smile deepened, and his finger trailed to trace the dip at the top of Jon's lip. "Enough."

For once this week Jon arrived at work feeling like he had enough in him to do the things he needed to do. His body was rested and loose, and his head was just full of the little pleasures of the moment: the sun making blue-purple shadows in the drifts of snow beside the driveway, the warmth of his puffy jacket, the lingering smell of Kurt on his skin.

In the kitchen, Patrick was wiping the table clean of cracker crumbs and juice spills. He gave Jon a smile. "Hey boss, what's the plan for the evening?"

Dusty thundered into the room making loud airplane noises, crashing his LEGO plane at Jon's feet and somersaulting to the floor in the explosion. He grinned. "Hey Pops!"

Pushing his ball cap back, Jon grinned at him. "Hey Dust. Looks like you have energy to burn today. Want to help me and Patrick build a snow fort?"

The combined strength of Jon and Patrick working the big shovels turned the ordinary hump of drifts beside the driveway into a mountain of snow in the centre of their lawn. Dusty and Jordin carved paths and shaped a wall around what would be their entrance; Angel and Grace filled squeeze bottles with coloured water and sprayed wild designs into the structure. This was a Canadian dad trick Jon had learned from Pete--in 24 hours the exterior of their structure would be frozen solid, sturdy enough to carve out without collapsing.

The indigo shadows had lengthened and dusk was falling when they stomped inside for supper, mitts soaked, wrists chapped, noses nipped, but warm and happy with exertion. There was a chaotic cuffuffle as everyone found hooks to hang up their snow clothes to dry for school tomorrow. Jon pulled a bubbling lasagne out of the oven--one of Naomi's creations.

Mealtime was busy making sure everyone at a portion of meat and a bite or two of veggie sticks, and doling out ADHD and anti-anxiety meds. When Dusty and Grace disappeared to watch a show, and Jordin put her earbuds in to do homework at the kitchen table, Jon and his staff finally had a moment to breathe.

"Hey, I have something for both of you," Patrick said, digging into his personal bag to hand Jon and Angel a pair of thick linen envelopes.

Angel's face lit up. "Is this what I think it is?" She tore into the envelope, pulling out the wedding invitation and stroking her slender brown fingers over the printed card. "Ooo embossed. Tiffany is so classy, Pat. You're totally marrying up."

Jon had his hands buried in a sink full of dishes, but he smiled at Patrick over his shoulder. "Thanks Patrick; that's kind of you to think of us."

Patrick shrugged, grinning. "Well, you know how it is. We have this table at our reception with, like, three cousins who don't have 'plus ones' and we thought--why not fill it up with people we like? Weddings are a great place to meet Christian singles."

Jon tried to deflect the topic. "So what's on the menu?"

Patrick thought back. "Carved roast beef? And all the fixings. Tiff's family are ranchers so it'll be, as the kids are saying these days, off the hook. Actually, one of the cousins at your table is helping prep the meal. Rebecca? She's a solid Christian girl, great family, really pretty smile. I dunno Jon, you might hit off."

"Mm-hm?" Jon made a neutral response, keeping his eyes on the sudsy water, scraping at the baked-on cheese in the lasagne pan. The minute he'd come back to church, single and apparently available, he'd had to duck offers like this one, on the regular.

Angel was less chill, flicking Patrick's arm hard enough to make him rub his bicep. "Why do married people assume everyone wants to be married like them?" She was still wearing a smile, but it was thin and there was an edge to her words.

Patrick lifted his hands in surrender. "I don't know--I'm happy; I just want everyone to be happy."

In the water, Jon's thumb touched the bare ring finger of his left hand, and he eased his shoulders back. "You're fine, Patrick," he said. "I'm not looking, but I get it. I'm happy for you."

"Some people are asexual, you know."

All three grown ups turned to look at Jordin, who apparently did not have her music up loud enough not to be listening in.

"What's that, Jordin?" Patrick asked.

Her black eyes glanced at them and she flicked an earbud free. "If you're asexual, you don't have sexual feelings for other people. Like, you don't want to have sex. One of my friends is ace."

"Huh," Patrick said. "The more you know. Thanks for sharing, Jordi."

Jon tried to keep a straight face while he imagined how hard Kurt was going to laugh at this story later. "Um, I don't think that's me." He felt his ears pink up. At all.

Since Jon had given himself permission to be intimate with Kurt, he found his own body to be an ongoing revelation. He'd never been more at home in his skin, and so so grateful every day to have Kurt as his partner.

There was a line they still hadn't crossed, and after the damage Nicky had done Jon didn't even know how to broach the subject. He was still nervous, but it felt more like hopeful anticipation now. He trusted Kurt; he was just waiting for the other man to make the first move. And lately it felt like he would be waiting foreeeever.

Patrick headed home after clean up, and Angel tore into the night chores like she had a personal vendetta with the vacuum. When the kids were settled in their beds and the house was quiet, she poked her head into office. "Can I interrupt you, boss?"

Jon gave her a brief smile from the computer. "Give me twenty to finish pay roll. I'm not in tomorrow and I'm pretty sure everyone wants their pay for last minute Christmas shopping."

When Jon finally pushed back from the keyboard with a sigh, standing up to stretch his arms and neck, Angel reappeared, tapping on the open door. Her mouth was a deep unhappy curve; her hair was deep indigo today, almost as dark as the natural black of her lashes and eyebrows.

"Hey Angel," Jon said, settling on the edge of the desk. "What can I do for you?"

She shoved her hands deep in her cargo pants pockets. "I know you don't like to mix your work and personal life?" The words were so tentative they were almost a question.

Jon held her eyes, waiting, and she sighed. She pitched her voice soft, just loud enough for his ears. "I'm just a little short on other gays to talk to about this."

Jon checked the clock; twenty minutes until anyone else came on shift. Taking off his ball cap, he tossed it on the desk and rumpled up his hair. "I just took off my boss hat," he said, half his mouth smiling. "So what's up?"

She made a frustrated noise. "Seriously Jon, how do you deal with the bullshit? Like Patrick throwing his 'cousin with a pretty smile' at your head. After everything you've talked about at staff training he still just assumes you're looking for a woman to settle down and make babies with."

Jon tucked in his chin, considering her a moment. They'd never said the word 'gay' in direct reference to him and his palms were sweating. But If he did what he always did and protected himself by not acknowledging what Angel was saying and not sharing, he sensed Angel was going to get hurt. Was already hurt, under her anger.

"Patrick assumes what I want him to assume," Jon said, careful and dry. "I can hardly blame him for that."

Her face creased and her lower lip quivered. "Is there ever going to be room for us? Like, do you really think there's a reason to stick around?"

"Stick around here, this house? Or...Christianity in general?"

She made a cracked noise. "I don't know. Both?" She rubbed her hands over her face, and he saw she was shaking. "I told my parents I'm queer and they said--don't come home. Give us some time to process. So it's Christmas and I have a shitty little plastic tree in my apartment and I'm so--" She threw out her hands, then let them fall. "I don't know. I thought it was the right thing to do, to be open with them about who I fully am. And now I'm out on a limb and I don't know if I'm getting my family back after this."

Jon let out his breath, his own chest tight with her obvious pain. "Angel, I'm so sorry."

A tear slipped out of her dark brown eye. "My friends from campus are like--'screw them, screw the church, it's their loss.' But they don't know. They don't know what that all means to me--what I'd lose if I just--" Another tear slipped free and she brushed it away, realizing she was crying. "Crap," she whispered.

Jon leaned towards her, feeling awkward. "Do you...want a hug?"

She lifted one shoulder and stepped into the office, her damp face turned away from him. "Sure," she whispered. "I would take a hug."

Gently, Jon put his arms around her. He wasn't used to hugging someone so much smaller than he was; Angel was even more fine-boned than Bea, and an entirely different body shape that Kurt. It took a little adjusting. He felt her take a deep, shaky breath, her arms lightly clasping his shoulders.

Her laugh cracked. "You're a good hugger, Jon. I can't think of the last time--someone in the church hugged me." And then her body shook and she hid her face in his sweater to cry.

Jon set his feet wide to hold her up, wishing he was Kurt. His partner would definitely have something sweet to say right in this moment. All he had was his arms, holding Angel tight.

The flash of headlights in the driveway told him that the night staff was coming on for shift, and Angel pulled away, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Ugh, sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Hearing a close resemblance to himself, Jon laughed shortly. "Nothing's wrong with you; it's fucking sad, Angel." He never said that word in front of his staff either, but 'sad' wasn't strong enough.

She was quickly pulling on her things, intent on leaving before the next staff came on.

"Hey," Jon said, and she glanced back, her wave of indigo bangs flopping over one red-rimmed eye. "We're making room, Angel." His feet were dug in the floor and the words came out quiet and fierce. "You belong, same as me. Okay?"

She took a breath, her eye closing a moment before she nodded and vanished out the back door of the house.

Jon stretched his shoulders back, rubbing his fists into his eyes. "Jesus. Fuck," he muttered. That anger had to go somewhere and he guessed the Lord could handle a little profanity. Or at least it hadn't stopped Jesus from loving him yet. Jon tugged his ball cap back on to do shift change.

{Kurt}

Kurt spent the afternoon engrossed in 'Bag of Bones', one of a pile of Stephen King paperbacks he'd found at the thrift store for twenty-five cents apiece. When his phone chimed, Kurt jumped and then laughed at himself. Thank baby Jesus the real world wasn't as scary as the ghost and demon-infested world of King novels.

It was his AA buddy Laurel. <want to be my plus one to the Nutcracker ballet>

Kurt let out a little 'eek' of delight, thumbs flying. <OF COURSE what time where??>

<tickets tonite sorry for short notice. Mom bailed on her date with me + Molly *laughing with tears emoji**rage face emoji*>

She sent the link to the event page and Kurt scrolled through photos of dancers with amazing legs in lavish costumes, heart a-flutter. Jon wasn't home 'til after eleven; plenty of time for a date to the ballet.

The foyer of the Jubilee Auditorium was lushly carpeted and packed with people in evening wear, checking their coats and scarves at the desk. Kurt spotted Laurel waving at him, her upswept red hair unmistakable above her puffy emerald jacket, her face flawlessly dewy, eyeliner winging out around her eyes and her red lips shamelessly competing with her hair for attention. Knowing Laurel liked to be in the spotlight, Kurt had kept his face simple and dressed down, all in black, except for his colourful fringed scarf draped around his shoulders.

Molly was the real star though, her hair pulled tight in a dancer bun and sprayed with glitter, a tutu poking out from under her winter coat. "Molleeee!" Kurt waved his arms like a fan spotting a super-star and ran through the crowd to throw himself on one knee, air-kissing both the child's cheeks.

Giggling, Molly air-kissed him back.

"Let me look at you." Kurt picked up her hand, twirling her under his arm. It felt like she'd stretched up an inch since the last time her saw her, in the McDonalds getting 'nuggies' with her mom. "Shouldn't you be backstage getting ready?"

The child batted his chest, laughing. "No silly, I'm not in the Nutcracker--we're just gonna watch."

"Ohhh," Kurt breathed. "You had me so fooled, baby girl." He stood and leaned in to air-kiss Laurel's cheeks, smelling floral perfume and faintly, underneath, a whiff of alcohol.

"Thanks for coming," Laurel said.

"Of course, thanks for inviting me," Kurt said. Under Laurel's sparkling make-up her eyes were flat and tired. "Everything all right?"

"Don't I look all right?" Laurel asked brightly.

"Mm," Kurt made a non-committal noise. "My bullshit radar is tuned pretty high with you darlin'."

Exhaling, Laurel slid her hands over Molly's ears. "Mom's on a bender." Her red lip curled. "Her asshole boyfriend broke up with her. If she's sober by Christmas, I'll be shocked and amazed. She didn't want to taxi here and I wouldn't let her drive. Fuck my life, Kurt, seriously. When will the fucking grown ups grow up?

Molly pushed Laurel's hands away, tipping her head to peer around her mom's belly. "Whaddaya talking about mommy?"

Laurel's manicured finger 'booped' her nose. "Nothing you need to worry about baby. Isn't it fun that Auntie Kurt came to join us at the ballet?"

"Yay!" Molly jumped and did a little pirouette.

"Can you give us a ride home?" Laurel asked, looking defeated. "I really don't feel like doing public transit with a tired toddler tonight. She was so excited about this evening that if I'd cancelled it would have been an ocean of tears."

"Of course I can give you a ride," Kurt said. "You should've told me and I would've picked you up. Visser limousine at your service." He pretended to tip his hat.

Her lips quirked and a little of her usual sparkle came back into her expression. "You ass," she said fondly.

"Let's check our coats, so you can show off your pretty dress," Kurt said to Molly.

"Oh no, we'll just hold them." Laurel tugged his arm back. "It costs a fortune, Kurt--"

He slipped free of her hand, grinning back at her. "Well I'm paying darlin' and I have money for my ticket too." He'd heard enough of Laurel's stories about her mom in AA meetings to suspect that she had not only stood her daughter up for this event, but had also left Laurel holding the bag on the expense in favour of a raft of alcohol.

"I can't let you--" Laurel said, exasperated.

But Kurt had taken Molly's hand, skipping across the foyer with her to the coat check.

They spent the evening swept into a sparkling world of toys and sugar plum fairies, dancing snowflakes and children in party frocks. Kurt had accompanied his mother and Aunt Aleen to the ballet occasionally. Neither woman had daughters to take with them and he was unsurprisingly the only boy out of their tribe of cousins willing to dress up and be dragged along. He had not-so-secretly loved every minute of it.

Molly was wide-eyed, on the edge of her seat to see the stage. When the Rat King and the Nutcracker clashed their wooden swords together, she gave a little 'shriek' and scrambled into Kurt's lap to watch through her fingers, since Laurel's lap was occupied by her nearly full-term pregnant belly. Chuckling softly, Kurt wrapped his arms around her solid little body, completely enjoying being Molly's safe 'Auntie Kurt.'

Maybe he would get to be a 'dance dad' one day and do his daughter's hair in a sleek ballet bun like Molly's. Or buy tights and soft shoes for his son to be beautiful and strong like the male dancers on-stage. A gay could dream.

*A little reprieve before we head into the longest night of Jon's year--and chance to check-in on the broader relationship network that Jon and Kurt are a part of. I feel like part of the reason For Us took on a life of its own to sprawl into 60+ chapters and counting is because it's not just about two dudes getting together; it's also about the ways their lives ripple out and touch the people around them. I love the beauty of the friend-families we make as adults, and as Jon and Kurt stabilize each other their friend-family gets the benefit of who they're becoming together.

Thanks for the reads, votes and comments lovelies--see you on Saturday!*

3040 words.